Canis non grata

There’s the doghouse then there’s the ultimate doghouse: not being spoken to, in utter disgrace, can’t have pals around any more.

It’s been a sorry week.  Blotted my copybook by peeing on a stranger’s bowling bag then overnight I vomited and pooped without a warning bark that I was poorly.  She forgave me for that – can’t blame a sick dog, can you – but she was a bit perturbed when she later found another puddle in the same place after the sprog, here for lunch, stood in it.  I hadn’t asked to be out.

The clean-up, however, was not over.  After lunch my pal Chip and I were playing in the front room when, no idea what got into us*, we had a peeing competition against the floor-length curtains.  Screams all round, buckets of detergent, spray stuff and total banishment to the rainy yard for him and me.

My mum wouldn’t look at me for the rest of the day and says I can’t have pals visiting if we behave like street dogs.  It could not get any worse.  Canis non grata for the forseeable future.

  • Truffle’s mum here: presuming this was assertiveness/territorial behaviour.  But it’s absolutely not on.

Cooked my goose…

In the proverbial doghouse (again).  My mum was going out this morning so a friend offered to take me out for a walk with his two dogs.  I know them all well so was really up for it and off we went.


Twenty minutes later he’s on the phone to my mum telling her I’ve run off and can she come help find me.  Well that went down a treat!

Before she could reach the playing fields (in her high heels), there’s another phone call telling her I’ve been recovered and she can go home.

She was not very happy and said I’d cooked my goose this time.  I love roast goose – we’ve had it the last two Christmases – but somewhow I don’t think that’s what she meant…



Hee, hee, cat in trouble

Marley Cat has disgraced himself two days on the trot – nibbled the top off a cheese and bacon quiche yesterday then licked the butter today.  My mum is incandescent.


After lunch with a friend, she put a cover over the last slice of quiche but cleverclogs tipped it off and helped himself.  I was the beneficiary because after that it wasn’t fit for human consumption.

This morning she’s making bacon sandwiches and finds him licking the top of the butter in the dish.

She puts the lid on, goes away while the bacon cooks and comes back to discover he’s knocked one slice of bread off the other (supposed precaution to avoid said cat having a go) and licked more butter!

He’s now hanging his head in shame, in the proverbial doghouse.  Looks as if he’s in the summerhouse to me.  I thought she said the summerhouse wasn’t a dog kennel…

Update July 14

More horrors from the cat!  He pinched cake which had been left under a teatowel overnight – crumbs on the counter and a big scoop out of the tin.  I was allowed some of the rest for breakfast but the remains went in the bin.  I would never steal food…


In the doghouse again…

In the doghouse good and proper.  But, really, it’s my mum’s fault for staying in bed and not coming to the beach at 8am.

Our three doggy pals called early and their human said he would take me to the beach if mum wasn’t ready.  So I toddled off with them and left my mum reading the news online and catching up on Facebook.

P1050896Imagine her surprise when we came back in double quick time, even though the sun was shining and it was a lovely morning.  The story unfolded: I would not go with them.  They walked one way and I headed back to the car park.  I was retrieved, they tried walking the other way and, once again, I headed back to the car park.  There were words but no, I was having none of it so we all piled back into the car and came home.

I wanted my mum to share the day and felt bereft without her.  She didn’t appreciate my loyalty one little bit – told me off and said I was to have no post-beach biscuits.  That’s a bit mean, isn’t it?

The cat did it!

Me andP1090841 Marley are in the doghouse – not literally, we don’t have a kennel, but mum isn’t speaking to us.  Not exactly incommunicado but yelling is definitely not in the speaking range, is it?  Honestly, the cat is the main culprit.

Mum had a delivery of pet food earlier and the box was in the hall.  She unpacked the bags – expensive cat food and cat litter, nothing for me – and took the box outside to the recycling bin.

When she came back the trouble started.

P1090843Marley had scratched open a bag and helped himself!  I scuttled out of the way real quick while he took it on the chin then sauntered off.  Cats have no shame, have they?

The thing is, I then blotted my copybook at dinner by sniffing her pizza – it was only a sniff, honest – while she was out of the room getting a drink.  She caught me red nosed so then I was ‘persona dog grata’ and sent to the corner.   My toy basket is in the corner but I thought it wouldn’t be a good idea to get anything out while she was so mad so I stayed there.  In shame.  It’s all the cat’s fault…